DON’T STOP (Lila and Darrell) novel Chapter 55

Chapter 55

Bella

With the rain still pouring down, I trudged the last block to the dorm, soaked to the bone, my sueakers squelching with every step. My mind was a mess, replaying every worst-case scenario about Mom, about school, about everything fallthe apart. Tears mixed with the rain on my face. I didn’t even try to hide them anymore. By the just stood under the overhang outside the entrance, staring at the street. The thought hit just run out there, right into the path of the next car. One quick end to all this weight. My i already twitching like they might actually do it.

I reached the building

ind clear maybe I should ounded at the idea, legs

Then my phone buzzed in my pocket, loud against the drumming rain. I pulled it out with shaking fingers. Mom. A broken sob tore out of me before I could stop it. I pressed my free hand over my face, sucked in a ragged breath, and answered.

“Mom?” I whispered.

“I decided to call,” she said, her voice warm but tired. “I haven’t heard your voice in weeks. Tell me, how are you?”

I ground my teeth together so hard my jaw ached. I didn’t want to cry, not yet, not like this. “Haven’t been better,” I managed. “You?”

“I’m good,” she said, but then her tone shifted. “Are you alright? Why does it sound like you’re in the rain? I can hear it pouring.”

I forced a laugh that sounded more like a choke. “I just… felt nostalgic. Decided to play in the rain.”

“I see.” She laughed softly, that familiar sound that always made things feel a little less heavy. “Please don’t catch a cold” “Don’t worry, I won’t.”

“Why don’t we talk later?” she said. “I have e to head to the hospital.”

The hospital? My stomach dropped. “What? Why are you going to the hospital?”

I shoved through the dorm door so fast I almost slipped, desperate to get inside where the rain noise wouldn’t drown her out. “Don’t worry, dear, I’m fine-”

“Tell me!” I yelled. I couldn’t believe the sharpness in my own voice.

She chuckled again, softer this time. “The doctor said I have a tumor in my brain. It needs surgery, but I can’t afford that, so I’ve been going for daily therapy and treatments instead.”

Γ

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The words came out as a yell this time, raw and intentional, Tears burned down my cheeks; I was sobbing openly now, loud enough that I didn’t care if anyone in the hallway heard. “I’m fine, I really am… the drugs are working. It’s painless now.”

“But the tumor is still there!” I shouted back, stomping my foot so hard the wet sole slapped the tile. I was shaking and crying harder, my chest heaving. “Tell me how much the surgery is. I really don’t want anything happening to you.”

She sighed, long and heavy. “Bella, my dear… it’s a lot. The neurosurgeon said the full procedure, like the craniotomy. hospital stay, anesthesia, and all the pre- and post-op scans and care, could be anywhere from $80,000 to $250,000 or more, depending on the hospital, the city, how complex the tumor is, and if anything goes wrong. Some places quote even higher-$300,000, $400,000, and up to half a million for complicated cases with long ICU time and rehab. That’s why I didn’t push. The outpatient treatments and meds are keeping the symptoms down for now. They’re buying time.”

I slid down the wall until I hit the floor, knees to my chest, phone pressed so tight to my ear it hurt. “$ 80,000 to $250,000?”

1/3

Center

8:51 am pppp.

Chapter 55

he numbers fel-like they were crushing me. Tuition loans, pent in this overpriced colege town, barely making it on café wages and scholarships. Those figures might as well have been impossible. But this was Mom. The woman who’d worked double shifts so I could have school supplies, who’d bugged the through every nightmare. I couldn’t lose her.

“Mom, listen,” I said, wiping my face with my sleeve. “I’m not letting this go. We’lNigure it out together, okay?”

She laughed again, but it cracked at the edges. “Always my lighter. But don’t put your whole is on hold, okay? Focus on school. If God wills it, we’ll find a way”

“I am focusing,” I said, voice steadier even though tears still streamed. “But you’re my everything. Promise me you’ll keep up with the treatments. Don’t stop. And promise no more secrets. I want to know everything-every appointment, every scan. every side effect.”

A quiet pause. Then, softly, she said, “I promise, baby. I love you so much.”

“I love you more.” My throat closed around the words. “I’ll call you tomorrow, And Mom? Don’t go anywhere without fighting this, okay?”

“I’m not going anywhere yet.” Her voice lightened just a little. “Now go dry off before you really do catch something.”

The call ended. I sat there on the cold dorm floor, rain still pounding the windows, my soaked clothes dripping onto the tile. The dark impulse from minutes ago like the cars, and the road felt far away now, replaced by something sharper: purpose. I wasn’t helpless. Tomorrow I’d start digging, looking for help.

The weight on my chest didn’t disappear, but it shifted. It wasn’t just mine anymore. I pushed myself up, peeled off my drenched jacket, and whispered into the empty hallway, “We’re going to be okay, Mom. We have to.”

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